The Christians and the Pagans The Hail Mary Remix
by Oro
Summary: Acknowledgement doesn't necessarily imply endorsement.


The Christians and the Pagans (The Hail Mary Remix)

Author: Oro

Original Story: The Christians and the Pagans by Seana Renay  
Summary: "Acknowledgement doesn't necessarily imply endorsement."  
Rating: PG-13  
Fandom: _West Wing_

Solstice finds her amongst her enemies, mingling with the crude minds and the shrewd mouths of smartass Democrats, clad in an ugly last-minute hideous mauve chiffon gown. Her heels click on the hard floor, the sound echoing sharply, drumming in her ear a little too loudly when she'd like to pretend she isn't really there. She looks around curiously, warily, to see if any of the other guests noticed. Solstice silently mocks her with its obvious pagan presence, a sinister sneer behind her shoulder.

She turns around.

On spotting Ainsley Hayes, she hangs on to her arm like a savior's, spinning her into a niche. The room whirls around them, for a brief moment, and then she looks at Ainsley and remembers why they aren't supposed to do this. Ainsley, the token Bartlet Republican, Ainsley who crossed over, Ainsley who turned into one of them. She lets go of Ainsley's arm as if it were on fire and smoothes her own gown as if it is at risk of going aflame as well.

_Unforgivable sin_, Mary thinks.

_Aberration_.

"I suppose you consider me an aberration, too," Mary says, "the ghost of Christmas present." Mary eyes Ainsley carefully, notes the reflection of her own face in Ainsley's eyes, tries to make out Ainsley's answer before her lips utter the word.

Ainsley's lips, pursed.  
  
 "The ghost of Christmas present was jolly. He brought food."  
  
Mary's eyes are still focused on Ainsley's lips a moment too long. She shakes her head, tries to smile to cover up her own aberration. It's an uglier, far queerer smile than she'd hoped to wear tonight. "How do you work for these people, Ainsley?"

"Mary."

"Acknowledgment," Ainsley's tone, condescending and pleading at once, nearly as ugly as Mary's grin,

"doesn't

necessarily

imply

endorsement."

Ainsley says it slowly, or maybe Mary's just hearing it that way. Solstice finds her and lays its cold fingers at the curve of her neck, saying _isn't Ainsley lovely_ and _isn't Ainsley smart_, sniggering in Mary's ear like a schoolboy but biting it like a man, or a woman.

_Aberration_.

"…they're my people," Ainsley finishes the last sentence of a monologue Mary realizes she hasn't been listening to at all. _The way Ainsley's long hair falls softly on her shoulder_, _the way the light reflects in her green-blue eyes_.

Mary reddens, angry at her own perversion.  
  
"Your -- these -- this man who would mock the most sacred day of the Christian calendar by catering to..." she breaks off, not knowing what she's supposed to do or say. _Ainsley's__ skin_, _Ainsley's__ lips_. Mary licks her own lips, a poor substitute for the softness she prays never to know. She says, "to overweight lesbians who own eighteen cats and dance naked under the moon?"

She says it with all the self-disgust she can muster.  
  
Smoothly reaching past her, Ainsley turns the handle of the door behind Mary's back and pushes it open, stepping impatiently forward, forward, forward, until Mary can smell her perfume and get caught in all of her indecent feminine traps. Mary holds her breath. _Dear God, help me conquer this affliction_.

Retreat is Mary's only option.

Ainsley pulls the door closed with a quiet clack and surreptitiously surveys the empty hallway.  
  
"You know, I eat a lot -- all day long," says Ainsley, reducing her voice to a mere soft, sweet whisper. Her eyes glint dangerously. "I can eat anything I want and I still wear a size two."  
  
Mary shudders inappropriately. Her mouth falls open and works in wordless disappointment for a moment, before the flow of Ainsley's words cuts in again and confuses her altogether. Solstice drags its nails on Mary's back, cutting a Roman cross in her flesh. She can feel her blood drizzle warmth on her skin and Ainsley's words disappear entirely. Her voice is gone but her lips still drip poison, arsenic that eats through Mary's gaze. Mary's teeth cut her tongue sharply and copper trickles down her throat. She swallows.

She knows she should be better.  
  
"… I am a Christian. Every Sunday I go to church, I can't even get to sleep at night if I haven't said my prayers and I know my Bible, chapter and verse." Ainsley's voice slashed through Mary's mind, painful as it triggers millions of scorns etched deep into her subconscious. Ainsley says, "and for those reasons I understand why you thought that, of everyone here tonight, I would be the most likely to be on your side. But, Mary?"

Ainsley leans in close, a lot closer than before, a lot closer than Mary prefers. "I'm a Republican working in a Democratic White House. You should have realized by now that I am just one – big – bundle – of – contradictions."

Mary doesn't breathe.  
  
Ainsley presses her mouth on Mary's mouth, soft and hot as she imagined it to be and deadly as she knew it would be, decisive against her lips. Ainsley's taste intermixing with Mary's blood, Ainsley's tongue licking Mary's lips, and all hell breaks loose.

Trembling at Ainsley's touch, Mary reaches up to touch the other woman's face and finds it already out of reach.

Solstice finds her all on her own, standing silent and immobile in an empty room, wearing the expression of someone who's lost herself. She begins to walk and her heels click on the hard floor, the sound echoing sharply, pulsing through her ear and blending with the cries of martyrs burning at the stake in the name of Christ Our Lord. She looks around confusedly, warily, to see if anyone is around to see her defeated. Solstice silently derides her like an inciting ghost, a victorious laugh piercing her brain as it leaves her there, bleeding.


End file.
